


Terms of Agreement

by Blood_Sucker_1428



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Budding Love, Caring, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Mycroft deals with emotions, Recovery, Torture, Worry, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Sucker_1428/pseuds/Blood_Sucker_1428
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is kidnapped. Anthea is sent a video of him being torture and she sends agents to go and find him. When they get him back she’ll have to help him heal and get his life back on track… she owes it to Sherlock, to Mycroft, and to herself. Requested on my Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terms of Agreement

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Условия соглашения](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304207) by [faikit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikit/pseuds/faikit)



> Hey guys, how’s it going? Chibicheeberson on Tumblr asked for some Mythea where Mycroft is the one being looked after for a change and preferably with some torture thrown in. This is what I came up with. It’s a decent length and was a nice writing exercise. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as you like the rest of my Mythea. Read, comment, give kudos if so inclined, and enjoy!
> 
> NOTE: This is COMPLETELY seperate from "AFTFE". Not connected in the slightest
> 
> Disclaimer: Clearly I don’t own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Anthea sat at her desk, phone in hand and hands pressed together against her lips as she watched the footage sent to the Diogenes Club. The envelope had been unmarked which lead to the workers automatically presuming it was for Mycroft. With Mycroft missing, well, they called up Anthea.

The room was dark and dank – water stains coming down from the roof. Anthea could hear what sounded like water dripping or flowing through the buzzing, low quality of the sound on the recording. Her boss, the great Mycroft Holmes, sat in the middle of the camera shot underneath the only ceiling light. Almost every inch of him was covered in blood, his hair dried with blood was falling in his face. He looked so thin and his every breath looked laboured. Anthea fought the urge to wince in front of the government agents who were also watching the footage. It physically hurt her to see her all powerful boss bleeding and trying hard to breath. She wished she could reach into her computer screen and pull him to safety. This was one of the few times Anthea herself felt powerless.

A man, presumably one of the captors, wearing a balaclava to cover his face entered the shot and walked towards Mycroft. The man, facing the camera, placed a hand hard on Mycroft’s shoulder.

 “Right, if you won’t talk to us, Mr. Holmes, let’s see if we can’t get one of your colleagues to spill. Maybe that pretty assistant of yours you keep around.” Neither Mycroft, nor Anthea from her side of the screen flinched. They were too well trained for that. “What happened to Moriarty’s code?” The man spoke in Mycroft’s ear. Mycroft scowled slightly – looking tired of the question. So her boss was still in there, they hadn’t broken his spirit. That was something to be relieved about. The man walked over to a tray and a large oil drum. Out of the oil drum he pulled out a burning hot fireplace poker. The bottom was glowing red and white and you could see the heat causing the air above it to ripple and wave. The capture held it close to Mycroft’s bare chest, a hairs width away from touching it. Even that close would be uncomfortable. “One more try, Mr. Holmes. Where is the code?”

No response.

The man turned to the screen once more and smiled a large grin full of teeth and gum. He pushed the poker into the already red and raw skin. Anthea recoiled and winced at the searing noise coming from Mycroft’s skin, and the man himself hissing – his face contorting in pain as he held back any scream or cry.

The man put the poker back into the drum and turned his attention to the tray full of instruments and tools. He chose the brass knuckles and placed them on his right hand. Going back to Mycroft, the man caressed his cheek the way a mother or a lover might.

 “Shall we try again, Mr. Holmes?” Mycroft rolled those steely eyes, still as bright and intelligent as ever – just exhausted looking and reddened. Anthea’s hands clenched around her phone. “How about another question?” Even the agent next to Anthea was visibly tensing as he watched. “What did you do with Moriarty’s body?” The agent’s hand on the back of Anthea’s chair clenched tight. Mycroft on the screen didn’t even shift. “No answer Mr. Holmes? Bad choice.” He stroked Mycroft’s face once more with the back of his hand. He pulled his hand back, clenching into a fist and punched Mr. Holmes right in the side of his head. The force shoving his whole body sideways, fresh blood already visible through Mycroft’s hair. Anthea and the agent held their breath as they waited for Mycroft to recover. It took longer than either of them would have liked before the man started blinking his eyes, trying to clear up the blur that was most likely his brain right now. When he sat back up in the chair he looked in pain and very rattled.

 “Do you think your friends will get the message about how serious we are now?” Another voice came from behind the camera.

The agent ejected the D.V.D. Whether he couldn’t handle it anymore or he thought Anthea couldn’t, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. The agent looked at Anthea for further instruction and Anthea could tell he looked worried. Worried about what? Mycroft or again, about her? Anthea inhaled, tucking her air behind her ear.

 “Analyse the footage.” Her voice was surprisingly void of emotion. “Focus on the water noise in the background, it could be useful. Use it to find him.” The agent nodded and left the office.

If only Sherlock were here… He would have found Mycroft by now. Mycroft would be at home and safe and making sarcastic remarks about how stupid the agents were and how unreliable they were. He’d also chide her right now if he could see her for being sentimental and tell her she has work to do.

Speaking of which… She needed to go to Mycroft’s meeting with the Vice President. It had been a rather important to him.

* * *

 

He looked so small.

How can someone larger than life appear so small? It had to be the sterile white hospital bed, it just was not him.

Anthea closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the heart monitor being away, trying to use Mycroft’s slow rhythmic beat to calm down her own heartrate as if by osmosis. She opened her eyes with a shaky breath,

All she wanted to do was reach out and touch him, make sure he was real. Mycroft would hate that though, he hated being touched and his personal space being invaded without reason, or with reason as well really. But this once… Anthea couldn’t help herself she reached over and stroked Mycroft’s cheek, the same cheek she had seen his kidnapper stroke with menace rather than love. Anthea held her hand cupped against his face and stroked his cheek gently with her thumb. She looked over his face, making sure it was how she remembered it besides the bruising and the wounds.

 “You’re safe now.” She whispered. She was going to make him feel safe, the way he always made he feel safe. It was fifteen minutes before she moved her hand, only pulling it away when a nurse came in to check Mycroft’s vitals and his fluids. The fluids included a blood pack. That felt unacceptable, it made her feel like she’d failed him somehow. She owned it to Sherlock to keep Mycroft safe, just as Mycroft watched over John in Sherlock’s absence as the younger Holmes unravelled Moriarty’s spider web. She owed it to herself, if she was being honest. Years in this job and the older Holmes had become her friend and her everything.

* * *

 

She must have fallen asleep. Three days and she hadn’t left the hospital, doing any work she could within these walls and delegating where necessary. Somewhere along the lines she must have fallen asleep. She was still in her chair next to Mycroft’s hospital bed but her face was resting on her hands and her hands were on the edge of bed’s mattress. There was a weight on top of her head and it felt like it was moving… That must have been what woke her up. Anthea pulled her hand free from underneath her head, careful not to move, and placed it on top to locate what was on her head. She found a hand on top of her head using the thumb to stroke her the way she had been doing to Mycroft.

That meant…

Anthea took the hand gently in her own hand and pulled it down from her head. She sat up in her chair and looked to the person on the bed. Tired but steely intelligent eyes were open and meeting her own. Anthea made a noise that was a mixture of a sob and a laugh out of relief and squeezed Mycroft’s hand. She could feel her eyes threatening to release tears.

 “Oh, sir.” She breathed, her voice betraying her and cracking. Mycroft’s lip pulled up slightly.

 “Hello, my dear.” His voice was so quiet and hoarse.

 “Oh, let me get you some water.” Anthea regrettably had to pull her hand free to pluck to bottle of water out of her handbag. She pulled the lid up. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mycroft trying to sit up. “Oh no, sir, don’t do that.” She turned around to face him just in time to see his face contort in pain and him grit his teeth. Gently Anthea pushed him back down and brought the water to him. “Here, it’s not that full. Just take a sip.” She watch as he took a small sip and closed his bright eyes, savouring the feeling against his throat. He took one more small sip before it was handed back to Anthea.

 “How long?” He asked, closing his eyes once again as he shifted in the bed into a more comfortable position.

 “You’ve been in the hospital three days. You were missing for a week almost to the minute, sir.” Anthea answered with both possible answers to save him talking.

 “Mycroft.” Mycroft yawned. At first Anthea frowned but then she realised he was chiding her professional tone. She smiled for the first time in days and it felt good. She nodded.

 “Right, Mycroft.”

* * *

 

Anthea had effectively moved into Mycroft’s house to help him while he recovered.

To say it was easy for either of them would be a lie. It was just as hard for Anthea to watch her boss struggle with simple tasks as it was for him to struggle in the first place.

He’d hated letting Anthea changing the dressing on wounds he couldn’t reach, after all he was self-conscious about his body in the first place. Anthea had been as gentle about it as she could and she was happy when she could hum happily about how much better they were looking from day to day.

 “I don’t think this one’s going to leave a mark at all.” She smiled to herself as she stuck the dressing onto his back gently, fingers trailing the edges. She heard Mycroft click his tongue.

 “The same could not be said about the deeper burns on my chest.” He mumbled bitterly.

 “Well,” Anthea shrugged as she picked up Mycroft’s shirt and held it open for him to put his arms through. “Maybe if you’d let me have a look at it. I’m starting to think I have a magic touch.” He pulled his arms through and adjusted the collar on the shirt as Anthea began on the buttons. He pursed his lips.

 “Perhaps…” He hummed. Anthea paused on the buttons to look up to Mycroft’s face. She had not expected that response. As she looked down and continued buttoning up his shirt Anthea gained a playful smile.

 “Just let me know.”

There were bigger issues that burns, cuts and bruises.

For one, the shattered bones in his right leg were going to turn his faithful umbrella from an accessory into a needed crutch. It also meant physical therapy for the foreseeable future and somehow fitting that into the schedule. He couldn’t walk the stairs right now and was stuck on the bottom floor of his own house. They had moved half of his clothes and personal belongings into one of the downstairs guest rooms. Every time they had to take an elevator instead of the stairs, Anthea could see the bruised ego in his eyes and it hurt her. It was at these times she’d allow herself to break his ‘no touching’ rule and gently stroke his arm once. He’d sigh and steel his nerves, removing any emotion from his face.

The ulnar nerve in his left arm (thankfully not his right) had become a bit of an issue and the doctors didn’t want to operate if it had the chance of healing on its own. So instead they gave him medication and were playing the ‘wait and see’ game. That was easy for them to do when they didn’t have to see Mycroft’s face full of pain when he tried to play the piano or even type on the computer. They didn’t have to watch as he couldn’t even twist open the lid of a new bottle of water without pain and eventually giving up on the endeavour.

 Mycroft and Anthea worked from the temporary work station they’d set up on his dining room table. Mycroft attempted to pick up a pen with his left hand on for his hand to shake uncontrollably. Anthea, under the guise of typing on her phone, watched quietly as Mycroft attempted to stop his hand shaking. He was ultimately unsuccessful and he slammed the pen back down on the table only to cause himself more pain. The noise of the slamming causing Anthea to jump in her seat.

 “I can’t do this anymore.” Mycroft spoke quickly, his voice full of anger and frustration. He rubbed his forehead with his right now. Anthea locked her phone and placed it on the desk, turning all her attention to her boss.

 “Sir –”

 “No, Anthea.” He interrupted her. “No, this is not normal. This is completely unacceptable. I can’t pick up a pen. _A pen_.” He looked her dead in the eyes. Anthea tilted her head and sighed.

 “It was just a little bit of shaking. At least you’ve gotten some grip back –”

 “Oh, yes! Grip! That is an astronomical step!” The sarcasm was practically dripping off of Mycroft’s tongue as he raised his voice. “I might be able to grip a gun with my left hand again! Yes, that’s the important step, not being able to hold it steady or shoot it. My career is secure.” Anthea looked down at her lap and said nothing in return. He was mad at himself. Mycroft leaned back in his chair and sighed. “None of that was directed at you, my dear.” Anthea nodded.

 “I know, sir.”

 “You’ve been incredibly patient.” Anthea raised her eyebrows and nodded.

 “Oh, _I know_ , sir.” She agreed. This earnt a small chuckle from Mycroft before he sighed.

 “I don’t know how you put up with me.” He breathed. Anthea looked back up.

 “Because you’ve been through a lot and I care about you.” Anthea answered honestly. She leaned over the table and placed her hand on top of Mycroft’s left hand, the one that caused him issues. “And it’s going to get better, sir.” His eyes were watching her hand on top of his. “You’ll be back up and scaring people to death in no time.”

 “Except I’ll be leaning on the umbrella because I have to.” Anthea shrugged.

 “That just means you’ll always have that menacing silhouette you just love to use, you big drama queen.” That comment earned an honest to god laugh from Mycroft. Anthea squeezed his hand.

* * *

 

 “So I’m all set to move back home on Sunday, sir.” Anthea sat across from Mycroft at his desk in their office. Back in familiar territory. Neither of them looked up from the files they were working from.

 “Is that so?” Mycroft hummed. Anthea nodded. She winched to herself. She’d told herself she’d say this now. It was now or never. Anthea looked up at Mycroft, watched as he read the file off the desk instead of holding it up as it caused pain in his arm. Mostly, she watched him back in his element, in his imposing office with his imposing persona.

 “The thing is, Mycroft.” She breathed. The use of his first name caused Mycroft’s steel blue eyes to shoot up from his work. “I think I’m going to miss being around you.” Mycroft pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

 “Oh.” He said, stalling as his brain came up with a better response. “The feeling is quite mutual I assure you.” Anthea was slightly taken aback. She hadn’t expected that.

 “Oh.” She echoed, probably sounding like an idiot. “Good.” She nodded once. Mycroft looked back down to his file and rubbed his forehead.

 “With that in mind, my dear, I propose perhaps we set aside some time to… see each other.” He frowned to himself. “Socially, I mean. Not at work.” Anthea smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

 “Um, that sounds like a very good proposal. I’d agree to that. Perhaps we could set aside Sundays?”

 “Those are perfectly reasonable terms.” An awkward pause. “We are in agreement, then?” Anthea let out a nervous laugh.

 “I think we are.” Mycroft smiled at her, his eyes sparkling with humour and lightness.

 “Shall we shake on it?” He asked. Anthea rolled her eyes and shook her head.

 “I believe deals like this are better sealed with a kiss.” Mycroft blanched and stuttered a little.

 “Well,” He shrugged. “By all means…”

Anthea walked around the desk. She turned Mycroft’s office chair so that he was facing her and looking up to meet her gaze. She cupped his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb before she leant over.

Their lips met.

The deal was now a binding contract.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Worth it? Did you like it? Interesting fact; I have a screwed up ulnar nerve in my arm and have for about two and a half years now. Except mine happened in the middle of the night and no one knows why. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, it’s just weird and hurts if I over use it. For example, since I wrote a chapter of AFTFE last night and this tonight, it’s going to kill me tomorrow from all the typing. I thought I might as well use something I know in this. Haha. Anyway, enough about me… Let me know what you thought of the fic!


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